


Shattered

by DeandraAlleyan



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Eothiriel - Freeform, F/M, First Meetings, How They Met
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeandraAlleyan/pseuds/DeandraAlleyan
Summary: Eomer thought that his life would be less complicated after the War, but loving a woman he could never have made that unlikely.  Then unexpected circumstances altered everything.  Complete in 5 chapters.
Relationships: Lothiriel/original character, Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_I gave Imrahil’s wife a name (Sirrin), so I continued to use that name for her in any stories where she appears, even if her character is different each time (similar to my always calling Elphir’s wife Alcathir). The use of the same name does not indicate a connection between the stories. I will indicate if something is a sequel or related to an existing story._ **

**Chapter 1**

(Cormallen, late April, 3019 III)

Hearty laughter rent the night. “Oh, Eomer, I can scarce wait to have you meet the rest of my family. I am sure they will love you as I do. Already you are like a son to me,” Imrahil warmly told the king of Rohan.

“I am honored!” Eomer responded, humbled by the man’s approbation.

“You know, my friend, now you are king, you will need to think about beginning a family of your own. I doubt a queen and a few heirs would go amiss in Rohan’s eyes!” Imrahil urged.

Eomer chuckled. His friends had already been goading him in the direction of matrimony. It seemed marriage and children were on everyone’s mind in the wake of their victory, and he could not truly deny that the thought had occurred to him how pleasing a family would be. He would gladly see the hall of Meduseld filled with laughing children, driving back the long shadows of the past.

With a glint in his eyes, he teased, “How may I even consider marriage when you have told me that your only daughter is already betrothed? Shall I seek solace in some lesser maiden?”

Imrahil laughed appreciatively. “Had I known I would meet you, I might have required Lothiriel to wait instead of approving her betrothal.” He sighed, and shook his head before shrugging. “We live in a new world, one that none of us thought would ever exist. There are many worthy ladies who will eagerly seek your suit, Eomer. Choose wisely. The right woman beside a man, especially a ruler, makes all the difference. Do not let your advisers press you to marry someone in whose company you cannot be perfectly at ease. Many noble marriages in Gondor are made for alliance rather than love. I know it is so, but I was fortunate enough to achieve both, and I believe I would not have done half so well with anyone else united to me. She has given me four beautiful children and a lifetime of joy.”

Eomer nodded silently at the counsel, taking another swallow of ale. Wise counsel, indeed, he was sure, but privately he knew that a wife would likely have to wait a while. First the Mark needed his full attention in being rebuilt.

xx

Over the next few days, Eomer gave little further thought to his conversation with Imrahil their last night at Cormallen. The company traveled to Osgiliath and then on to Minas Tirith, where Aragorn was crowned king on May first. Consequently, he had not given much thought to Imrahil’s daughter, Lothiriel, or that they would soon meet. Had he done so, he supposed he would have expected her to be tall and dark like the other members of her family. 

The reality, when they came face to face, was far more than that. All of the men in the Prince’s family would be considered handsome, and Eomer had noted appreciative looks cast at them from the ladies. Not only did the family have Numenorean blood, but it was also rumored that they had Elvish ancestry. In Lothiriel of Dol Amroth there was every reason to believe the rumors. Eomer had come to admire the dark looks of Gondorian women, but he thought Imrahil’s youngest child might well be the handsomest woman he had ever seen. He noted that he was not the only man, upon first meeting her, who took a moment to recover his composure in the presence of such beauty.

More than her looks, though, he found her a pleasant and charming woman, as he would have expected. While yet young, at only twenty years, she carried herself with grace and dignity that reflected well upon her father and his house. Eomer was not at all surprised to note her parents beaming proudly as they watched their daughter move about in noble society.

During the sennight Eomer tarried at Minas Tirith before returning home, he came to realize that he could very much regret that he had not met the lady sooner, before she was betrothed. There had been little time in his life for the pursuit of ladies and romance; now that he had time, even needed to make time, the one that most caught his eye was unavailable to him.

Despite that, Eomer formed as warm a friendship with the lady as he had with the others in her family. With the defeat of Sauron, Imrahil’s wife and daughter, heir and his family, and Lothiriel’s betrothed had all journeyed to Minas Tirith for the celebrations and the coronation of their new king.

Imrahil’s wife, Sirrin, was a gracious woman, tall and regal, with little gray dusting her hair despite her many years. Apparently, in her eyes, friends of her husband’s were friends of hers, and she welcomed Eomer cordially into their home. With the affection that had developed between Eomer’s sister and Imrahil’s nephew adding an extra tie uniting their families, the king found himself a frequent guest there.

Elphir and his family were equally appealing, and the toddler heir was an active boy that kept amused smiles on many faces as they surveyed his antics.

The last member of the party, Lord Gaerost of Edhellond, was a bit of a mystery, not so easily assessed as the others. Well-spoken and tactful, Eomer watched him socialize with practiced ease. Amrothos had told him that the man held shipping interests along the coast at the various ports, and was quite wealthy. His fleet of ships had been employed in protecting the coastline, and thus he had remained in the south during the war. He and Elphir had long been acquainted, and it was through that connection that he had met and offered suit to Lothiriel.

Perhaps it was just Eomer’s predisposition to dislike the man, but he found something pompous and pretentious about him. Indeed he was a handsome man, but bordered on being ‘pretty’, and seemed to pay an inordinate amount of attention to his appearance. Eomer had never seen any male preen so much as this man, but at the same time, in comparison, the king felt almost unkempt and rough-hewn. It was unlikely Eomer’s manners would ever be that refined or particular.

Though Eomer met Imrahil’s family during the course of the day when they first arrived, he spent the majority of his time with Eowyn and had little interaction with them. Not until the feast that night, did he have an opportunity to speak with them more and get a better sense of them than what casual observation allowed.

The first thing to catch his eye was that Lothiriel was now moving with the aid of a cane. As she had been perfectly healthy when they met earlier, he could only presume something had happened in the interim. His eyes narrowed with consternation at how little attention her betrothed seemed to be displaying toward her, particularly given her ailment, but as Lothiriel did not appear bothered by it, he supposed it was none of his business.

Only when supper was ended and the dancing began was Eomer able to work his way over in closer proximity. He first encountered Imrahil and his wife, on their way to the dance floor. It was evident from their expressions that they had missed one another’s company these past few months. Eomer noted how their hands brushed against the other person’s as they walked, and he did not think it was unintentional. If Gondorian society would not have frowned upon it, he very much suspected they would be holding hands. 

It pricked something deep inside him to realize that. His parents had been the same way, and he had always hoped he could find such in a wife. Though he’d had some reservations earlier, when Eowyn explained her reason for tarrying in the city rather than joining him at Cormallen as he had requested, once he had met the Steward and talked with him, he began to believe that the couple was sincere in their affections. He had been watching Eowyn carefully whenever Aragorn was near, but there was no evidence of her previous admiration for him that had gone so amiss. She rejoiced in their victory, and clearly still thought very well of Gondor’s new king, but for the most part her eyes were only for Faramir. Eomer had to stifle a grin at how easily he himself was forgotten when the man came into Eowyn’s vicinity. Only because her eyes filled with joy as she gazed upon Faramir did Eomer keep silent. Later he would tease her, but for now it pleased him too greatly to see her happy at last.

Once Imrahil was past, Eomer snared a goblet of wine and continued on his course toward Lady Lothiriel. She had seated herself at a table along the perimeter, since it was evident she was unable to participate in the dancing. Her brothers had joined her briefly, but soon claimed dance partners and were presently also on the floor. Lord Gaerost had seen her seated, but then wandered off to socialize. He was making a circuit of the room, visiting cordially with the most prominent nobles in the place, but clearly working his way toward his new king to make better acquaintance.

What man in his right mind would leave his betrothed sitting alone at such a gathering? Likely it was not Eomer’s place to take offense, or to make himself available in Gaerost’s absence, but he did not care. Lothiriel of Dol Amroth intrigued him, and for the moment he did not wish to do the right thing and steer clear of another man’s betrothed.

“Lady Lothiriel,” he announced, as he joined her, offering a crisp bow. “What has happened? You are injured or ailing?”

She smiled up at him, somehow making him feel as though he were the only person in the room. “Clumsiness on my part, I fear. I stepped down wrong and turned my ankle. I really should be at home with it up on a cushion, but Lord Gaerost was eager to have me attend tonight, and I confess I did not wish to miss the celebrations.”

His jaw tightened at the news that Gaerost had pressed her to come despite her injury. He knew how painful sprained ankles could be. Not having it elevated would increase the swelling and add to her discomfort. Glancing around, he called to a passing servant. “Fetch me a soft pillow and a cloth filled with ice. Also bring a lap blanket,” he instructed. 

The man bowed and scurried away, as Lothiriel eyed him questioningly, but Eomer had noticed she had no wine and moved to secure some for her. He set it by her just as the servant returned with the items he had requested. Drawing a chair closer, he gestured to it. “It will ease your distress and aid healing if you do not leave your leg down while you sit here.” He positioned the chair for her until she indicated she was comfortable, spreading the blanket over her lap to provide whatever modesty she deemed necessary. The bag of ice he wrapped around the affected ankle, then covered it with part of the blanket.

“I thank you,” she told him with a smile. “That does feel better. It was beginning to ache somewhat. The healers gave me something for pain, but I believe it is beginning to wear off.”

“The wine will help that, until you are home and able to take more,” he acknowledged.

“You are very kind, sir,” she told him, and he frowned.

“Please, call me Eomer, at least when we are alone. I do not care to have my friends be so formal with me,” he requested.

Her eyes glinted with amusement. “Yes, Father says you will make for a very _informal_ king! But he assures me that he finds that refreshing, and hopes you are able to maintain it as long as possible.”

Eomer chuckled in response. “I never thought to be king at all, so I am sure I will make many ‘mistakes’ in how I go about it. First and foremost, I am a soldier. That is what I know and do best.”

“Perhaps but, as such, you are a leader of men. Being a king is not so different. Your tongue becomes your sword, and tactics are still required. Though they do not like to think of themselves thus, advisers will prove a unique sort of ‘enemy’, but once you have studied their ways of behaving, you will learn to deal effectively with them.”

He was startled by her insight, and particularly that she could couch it in military terms that were so familiar to him. “I had not thought of it in that way, but I think you may be right. The few times I witnessed my uncle with his advisers, he manipulated them brilliantly. I had not made an association between that and contending with enemies.”

“Too many advisers have a limited focus, Eomer. They fix upon a certain favorite topic to the exclusion of other worthy topics. As king, you will need to consider the whole, despite their sharded views. All the small pieces must fit together for the good of the whole,” she explained.

“And how is it that you know so much of this?” he asked, surprised by her counsel.

She laughed. “Father insisted that I stay as abreast of such things as my brothers. He felt that all of the royal house should be prepared in an instant to rule, if such became necessary. And there have been times when it seemed all too possible.” Her tone had sobered, but then she brightened as she added, “Until now. At this moment, I cannot think our lands will not finally find peace and prosperity.”

Eomer’s own countenance became more solemn and he looked down at his hands. “More so for Gondor than the Mark. We have a way to go yet. And there will be much rebuilding required. Saruman meant to utterly destroy us.”

“No,” she told him softly. “Gondor’s success is Rohan’s success. I am sure neither Father nor King Elessar will allow your people to suffer if they are able to ease it. Rohan rode to our aid, and now it is our turn to return the favor. Instead of armies and weapons, we will bring food and clothing. Gondor will not rest until _all_ enjoy our victory. And, should either Gondorian ruler forget their obligation, they will have to contend with me! I can be very tenacious!”

He laughed then. This woman was remarkable, and he felt all the more attracted to her. He reined in that thought. No, it was not appropriate; she would never be his and allowing himself to think along those lines was a mistake. He would go home and forget about Imrahil’s daughter; instead, he would find a wife from among his own people and raise a family. Then he would not be bothered if his visits to Gondor brought him face to face with another man’s wife.

“Eomer, why are you not dancing? Lady Lothiriel has an excuse.”

Aragorn had joined them and was smiling down at his friend. Eomer shrugged. “I have been keeping her company, and receiving wise counsel. You might want to consider taking on a new adviser, Aragorn. She would be most effective.”

Aragorn chuckled. “I can imagine so, if Imrahil’s bragging is to be believed! But then I should be obliged to take on her brothers as well, for the good Prince does not show favoritism with his pride in _all_ his children.”

Lothiriel smiled up at the king. “Do not mind Father. None of us would be willing to leave our beloved sea for the time it would take to sit in your councils. And you will soon be rid of _me_ by marriage. So, you see, you will be able to choose your own counsel without undue encouragement in your choice!”

They all laughed together, but then Lothiriel urged, “Eomer, do please go and enjoy yourself. Do not feel you need to keep me company. I will enjoy watching, and there are many ladies in the room eager to partner with you on the dance floor.”

Something in the way she said the last part told him she meant ‘partner’ in more than one sense. And it reminded him that it was also probably wise counsel. It would be unseemly for him to spend the entire evening in her company, regardless of how inclined he was to do so.

Rising, he offered her a bow. “As you are determined to get rid of me, I will go,” he teased.

“Not get rid of you!” she protested. “I am merely determined that you enjoy the festivities. I expect you to dance and make merry, all the more fervently because you will be also doing it on my behalf since I cannot.”

“I shall see it done!” he vowed with a grin, turning to move reluctantly away. 

As good as his word, he kept away from her the remainder of the evening, though his gaze strayed toward her numerous times. It was frustrating, to say the least, being so drawn to a woman who was unattainable. It made him even more eager to head back to the Mark. Perhaps distance would temper the feelings he was having, and enable him to forget about her. 

xxxxx

The next evening, Imrahil’s family hosted a supper to celebrate Faramir and Eowyn. Though the official betrothal would not take place until after Theoden’s funeral, everyone seemed desirous of finding any excuse for spending time together reveling in their victory. 

Lord Gaerost did not attend this party as he had made prior dinner arrangements elsewhere. Originally, Lady Lothiriel had been slated to go with him, but between the desire to be there for her cousin, and her difficulty in getting around on her sore ankle, she was able to beg off from the engagement. Eomer was not certain how he felt about that.

Still, he was good friends with most of the men in her family, and what was the harm of including the ladies in his circle. All he needed to do was make certain not to obviously favor Lothiriel in his attentions. It proved more difficult than he had imagined it would, but he thought he did an admirable job of it. At least he thought so until he caught Eowyn watching him with a speculative eyebrow raised.

After supper, Sirrin had planned various games for entertainment, and Eomer found himself partnered with Lothiriel for checkers. While both chess and checkers were popular in the Mark, he had never much cared for chess. Though the need for strategizing appealed to him, the game moved too slowly and he usually grew restless in short order. With its faster pace, Eomer had quickly become quite adept at checkers, making use of his skill at battle strategies to plan his moves. However, Lothiriel proved very much his equal, and he enjoyed the challenge. At home, he found it difficult to find a player who could keep him on his toes so well as she did.

“How is it that you are so good at this?” he asked as they set up the board for a new game, Lothiriel having just won the one they were playing.

She laughed. “When you have only brothers, you quickly learn that all games are competition and if you do not keep up you will be run over. I had to be good enough to hold my own against them. Elphir is the best, though he prefers chess, but I am a good match for the other two. Mother also, so usually it was the four of us playing checkers in the evening while Elphir and Father played chess.”

He grinned in response. “You are right! Games in the Mark can become quite cutthroat. I think most there enjoy checkers far more than chess. It is too sedate to suit our temperaments!”

“I shall need to learn though,” she admitted. “Lord Gaerost prefers chess, and rarely chooses to play checkers. I suppose I must get used to defeat on a regular basis.”

The mention of her betrothed put a damper on his enthusiasm that the easy familiarity of their interaction had brought. Though they continued talking, telling of their lives, he found himself holding back, fearing he would overstep some boundary that should not be crossed. If she noticed his reticence, she did not comment on it.

Even as much as Eomer’s head told him he should avoid close contact with the lady, it seemed he constantly was finding himself in her company. There were times when he could almost believe she was attracted to him, but then he reined in his thoughts. What did it matter if she was? She would not break her betrothal, and he would not attempt to steal another man’s woman. Had they met sooner, before she accepted Gaerost, possibly they could have been together, but now that would never happen.

Eowyn continued to watch him, and the day before they left Minas Tirith to return home, she came to his room. Looking on as he packed his few meager belongings, she finally broached the subject on her mind. “Do I sense…something between you and Lothiriel, Brother? You seem eager to share her company.”

Eomer paused only slightly in what he was doing, not turning to look at her. Finally, he told her firmly, “Lady Lothiriel is betrothed to Lord Gaerost. End of discussion, Eowyn.”

She knew him too well to pursue the matter, though he was sure she could read between the lines. Without further comment, she moved forward and slipped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his back. She held him in silence for several moments, and then stepped back. “I will see you at supper. This is my last day with Faramir and I intend to make the most of it,” she told him.

He turned to smile encouragingly at her. “You do that. I am sorry you must return with me, and that he cannot join us, but there is nothing to be done for it. We must prepare things for Theoden’s funeral, and arrange for your official betrothal.”

“I know,” she acknowledged, then tossed him a grin before departing.

Eomer stood staring at the closed door for several moments before resuming his packing. Whether Eowyn liked it or not, so far as he was concerned, the sooner he left Minas Tirith the better it would be.

xxx

Imrahil’s family had turned out to bid the Rohirrim farewell, but Eomer was able to keep a tolerable distance from Lothiriel so that nothing would seem amiss in their interaction. He had been a little surprised that she had come at all, making the walk up two levels to where they were gathering outside the Citadel. Making sure to display no preference for her company over anyone else’s, he and Eowyn were soon mounted and making their way slowly down through the city. He ignored the curious sidelong glances Eowyn cast in his direction initially, before finally turning her attention elsewhere. She might understand why he could not pursue Lothiriel, but it would trouble her that he so clearly cared for the woman.

It was good to be going home though. That so many wounded men were traveling in their midst slowed the trek somewhat, but still there was an excitement at returning to homeland and loved ones. Not until they reached the damaged walls of the Rammas Echor did Eomer allow himself a glance back at the White City. The past four months had been unbelievable – from the moment three men sprung up from the grass of the Riddermark, until he found himself facing the Black Gate, and down to seeing the crowning of Gondor’s king after so very long without one.

Turning his face back to the west, Eomer fixed his gaze on the horizon and signaled the company onward. There would be time in the evenings to dwell upon all that had taken place this year, but for now the Mark beckoned and there was much work to be done.

_to be continued_

Gaerost – “sea fortress”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**A reviewer on FFN asked in her review about ice. I thought I would answer here in case others were interested. She wondered how they would get/keep ice, and wanted to know if I had researched it somewhere. No, I haven't specifically researched it, but I am drawing on what I know of history pre-refrigeration. The typical way of getting ice was to cut it from the rivers during the winter (as in “Frozen”), and store it deep underground or in caves where it is much cooler, setting it on straw. Stacked upon itself in that cold environment meant they could keep it well into the summer, if not all the way to the next cold spell when more ice was obtainable. (The thickness provided by stacking helped keep the inner part "frozen" even while there was some melting on the exterior surface. You'll see this in some period movies (1700-1800s) and old movies of the 1900s period will sometimes show an iceman going around delivering ice in a horse-drawn wagon. For Middle-earth, I've simply assumed they would do the same sort of thing. With the huge mountain behind them, I would think Minas Tirith (especially the king's household) would certainly have such a thing.** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed posting. My internet's been out most of the day and I just now was able to get online.

**Chapter 2**

Eomer had believed he had done reasonably well in keeping Lothiriel from his thoughts. For the entire return ride to Minas Tirith, to bring Theoden’s body home, he had managed to focus on anything but her. It had never been discussed specifically, so it was possible she was back in Dol Amroth and not planning to attend the funeral, even though her father likely would. Probably it would be best if that were the case.

Only once they were arrived, and he first glimpsed her again, did he realize he was not so controlled as he wished. He could not manage to construe the lurching of his stomach – several times – as a sign of indifference where the lady was concerned. It only complicated matters when he learned that Lord Gaerost was occupied with his businesses in the south, and was not accompanying her. Eomer was going to have to be extremely cautious for the duration of their visit to his land.

The two-month separation from his friends had not altered their warm feelings for one another, and they settled easily into conversation as if little time had passed. The four days resting from their journey, before returning home, was spent in friendly talk and lively assemblies. 

Eomer had met a few Elves previously, most notably Legolas and the sons of Elrond, but then in June a large riding of the fair folk turned up at Edoras, and he learned of Aragorn’s betrothal. Seeing so many Elves had been rather overwhelming, but they had not lingered long at his city. Only now was there opportunity to speak with them and gradually become comfortable with the Firstborn, and he also made it a point to observe Lady Galadriel more closely. At length, he was forced to confront Gimli over the matter between them – namely his seeming slight of the Lady of the Golden Wood. Only when Eomer admitted a preference for the darker beauty of Arwen (taking care not to include Lothiriel in his defense) was Gimli appeased and blows avoided.

Though Lothiriel’s ankle was healed by now, Eomer dared not approach her for a dance at the feast honoring the Rohirrim, and he carefully kept himself occupied well away from her to avoid any temptation to yield. Even so, he could not keep from watching her whenever there was a chance to do so unnoticed.

The trip to Minas Tirith had been fairly brisk, and they moved at a goodly pace, but now with the wain carrying Theoden and the many carriages for the ladies, they were again reduced to a much slower progress. In many ways, Eomer felt almost as blanketed with sorrow as by the dust that covered his clothing. There had been so much to do prior to this that it had held his emotions at bay, but there was no escaping their current purpose – to return Theoden to his home, and lay him to rest amid his forefathers.

Perhaps sensing that Eomer would become morose if left alone, Aragorn and Imrahil made it a point to stay near to him and not permit him too much solitary reverie. Though at times their solicitude was annoying, for the most part he appreciated their concern for him, even if he could not bring himself to voice it.

Likely it was his moodiness that tended to keep most of the others at a distance, which worked to his advantage, but when Aragorn invited both Eomer and Imrahil’s family to supper several nights on the road, it made it more difficult to maintain his aloofness.

Though probably not by any design, he found himself seated next to Lothiriel at the second such meal. Arwen took a more relaxed view of seating arrangements and did not overly concern herself with protocols. She was more inclined to let everyone find an eating companion of their choice, and through pure randomness, Lothiriel had claimed the empty seat beside him. At least he presumed it was so until she began attempting to draw him out during the course of the meal.

While they had been relaxed in their previous associations, he found it difficult to strike a balance between his warm feelings for her and the need for propriety in the matter. There were times when he almost thought she suspected the reason for his odd behavior, though she never voiced it. He could imagine that she, too, might be struggling to determine where to draw the line between friendliness and overfamiliarity.

“Would you tell me of King Theoden?” she asked, taking a sip of her wine. “I never had the opportunity to meet him, but perhaps fond remembrances will somewhat ease your sorrow.”

Eomer drew a ragged breath, not sure if he wanted to pursue this discourse, but moved by her compassion for him. “Theoden was…as a father to me and my sister,” he said haltingly. “We spent more of our lives in his household than with our birth parents. Perhaps because he lost his mother when he was born, Theoden’s son, Theodred, readily welcomed the increase to his family. Though quite a bit older than we were, he spent much time with us. Both of them were unfailingly kind to two grieving children, giving us both comfort and guidance.”

He lapsed into silence, and after several moments Lothiriel remarked, “Your cousin was lost also? I believe my brothers indicated he had died before you rode to Gondor.”

Eomer nodded. “He was killed at Isen, murdered by orcs. Eowyn is all the family I have left.”

“We do not live nearby, I grant you, but Imrahil’s family will always be your family now,” she assured him quietly. “My Father considers you as another son, and my brothers cannot speak well enough of you. Do not despair, Eomer.”

Across the table, Aragorn had unobtrusively witnessed their entire conversation. Now, however, he interjected, “And _we_ will always be brothers, my friend. Heed the lady’s counsel – do not despair! Theoden King died an honorable death, after living a long and good life, and he will long be remembered. Theodred, too, met an honorable end, however unnecessary, and you can ensure he is not forgotten. You ever stood at Theodred’s right hand, supporting him in all things. Now your challenge is to take up his banner – their banner – and assume their place in leading Rohan. Both had confidence you could stand in their stead, that you would not see the Mark fall while still you drew breath.”

Eomer lifted his gaze from his plate of food and softly responded, “I know all of that is true, my friend, but it does not ease the pain.”

“Only time will do that,” Lothiriel observed, “but perhaps you will find some comfort in knowing you are not alone in your grief.”

Eomer wondered if she understood how truly alone he was, or soon would be. Friends were good, particularly those who thought so warmly of him – and he did not doubt their sincerity – but all of them were in Gondor, and Eowyn would soon join them. Likely only when he had found a wife of his own would Meduseld regain any warmth and feel like home again, and knowing that wife would never be the woman sitting beside him was an equally discouraging thought. Their encouragement was well-intentioned, but he doubted either truly comprehended the extent of his distress.

And he would not tell them; indeed, he would do all he could to conceal it from everyone. It could not be changed by him or them or anyone else. He must simply endure it, as he had so many unhappy things before this.

The conversation turned then to happier matters, and Eomer attempted to give the appearance he had set aside some of his sorrow. It wasn’t necessarily true, but he did not wish to burden them with it. And he very much did not want more solicitude from Lothiriel. It was difficult enough being in her company without that. It felt as though he were picking at a scab, thus preventing a wound from healing.

Fortunately, after that, his friends seemed to decide that lighter conversation would help him through this and he was not further pressed. All things considered, seeing Meduseld on the horizon was a mixed blessing. It would afford him some distance from the lady and other well-meaning friends, but it brought the purpose for their presence more sharply into focus. Theoden was gone. Once he was laid to rest, there was no imagining he might ever return. That knowledge, too, added to Eomer’s feeling of isolation.

At least the business of his kingdom occupied his time and his hands, even when it did not fully engage his mind. Eowyn handily managed the guests, and with Faramir now at her side she seemed to be coping better with their uncle’s loss and her own grief. Eomer felt as though he wandered through the next few days in somewhat of a daze, but at length, Theoden had been buried and honored. Though it was difficult to dredge up any cheer in his heart, Eomer knew he needed to proceed with Eowyn’s trothplighting to Faramir and, to his surprise, their joy did cause the heaviness in his heart to lift slightly. If he could not find happiness in his own life, at least let Eowyn know it. In many ways, she had suffered far more than he had. He did not begrudge her one moment of bliss.

xxx

Four days after the funeral, Eomer bid farewell to the Fellowship and those riding with them, as they departed for Isengard and points farther on. The other guests had been trickling out the previous few days, most returning to Gondor, but Imrahil’s family and Faramir lingered a little longer.

Despite the tension caused by Lothiriel’s nearness, Eomer tried to force himself to relax and enjoy their company. Too soon she would return home, to be seen infrequently by him and then probably on the arm of her husband. While his head could accept that eventuality, his heart rebelled mightily at it. If this was all he could have, then let him enjoy her nearness while it lasted.

Only a few days into the visit, however, he began to rethink his view. The younger members of their group had gathered in his study after supper, Imrahil, Sirrin and Arwen having retired early. Eomer wasn’t even entirely sure how the subject had come up, but somewhere along the line someone had mentioned the propensity for Gondorians to arrange advantageous marriages among the nobility. Though not stated specifically, the suggestion hung in the air that Lothiriel’s was just such an arrangement.

“Are you saying that the women of Gondor’s nobility do not seek love in their marriages?” Eowyn asked incredulously.

Eomer tensed at the question, and shot a furtive glance toward Eowyn. Was her question merely due to curiosity or was there more behind it? With Eowyn, either possibility was likely, and since he knew she suspected his attraction to Lothiriel, she might well be asking what he could not.

“Perhaps it is not so in Rohan, but Gondor has long made alliances through marriage. It is to the woman’s advantage to marry well, regardless of her feelings in the matter. Some few do find love in the bargain, but in general the best they can hope for is that an affection will eventually develop,” Erchirion explained, somewhat apologetically.

“That…that is barbaric!” Eowyn exclaimed tactlessly. “How can you allow your sister to marry in such circumstances? Why would _you_ wish to marry in such circumstances? Does a woman have no recourse for changing her mind about a betrothal if she should develop affections for another man before her wedding?”

Eomer’s eyes widened slightly, hoping Eowyn would not pursue this much further. The conversation was far too close to the mark for his comfort.

“I am afraid not. In Lothiriel’s case, she likes Gaerost, and she knows he can ably provide for her. She will be living in close proximity to our parents, and so there is much to recommend the match. Unless there were some extraordinary reason to break the betrothal, it would be unheard of to do so,” Amrothos replied. “I know you value love in your marital matches, and likely you are wise to do so, but this has long been the practice in Gondor, and I do not foresee it changing any time soon. As for me, like Lothiriel, I will choose carefully and then hope for the best. And it is not all bleak. Father and Mother came to love one another passionately. It is not impossible to find love after the fact.”

“How fortunate for me, then, that I am born of sufficiently noble blood as to be _acceptable_ as a bride for Faramir!” Eowyn growled softly.

There was a tense silence, and then Faramir took a sip of wine, a twinkle playing in his eyes as he remarked, “Fortunate? Yes, but I confess, they would have been hard pressed to keep me from marrying you whatever your lineage, my love! I gave my all for Gondor, and I had no intention of allowing them to deny me my just reward!”

For an instant, no one spoke, and then laughter erupted around the room as the tension was eased. A smile even twitched on Eowyn’s lips at the remark, and her stiff posture softened. Eomer took the opportunity to sneak a glance at Lothiriel, and something in her demeanor made him think she was as glad for this discussion to end as was he.

He could not blame her. Even if she were attracted to him, she would hardly want to be reminded that she was now trapped into marrying someone else. Best to let sleeping dogs lie, and let her find whatever peace she could in her choice of betrothal partner.

One thing the conversation did accomplish was to make both he and Lothiriel more careful to only be in one another’s company when others were present. He knew he had been cautious on that point, but now he saw evidence that she was following suit, and he could not help but wonder at her motive. Was her heart making this as difficult for her as his was making it for him? He did not wish that upon her at all. Let him alone suffer this. He would have her be happy regardless. He cared for her too deeply to wish her any anguish on his behalf. Let her return home and find peace in her marriage, unfettered by concerns for him.

None too soon, and yet much too quickly, Eomer was bidding his friends farewell. As he and Eowyn watched them making their way down the hill through the town, he felt his sister’s sidelong glances at him, but thankfully she kept silent and did not press him on a sore subject. Likely she understood that discussion of it would change nothing.

xxxxx

In some ways, it got easier over time as Eomer resigned himself that Lothiriel was lost to him. Even so, when they returned to Minas Tirith that fall for Eowyn’s wedding, he had to steel himself against seeing her once more. With any luck, Lord Gaerost would accompany her, and be a constant reminder for him to keep his distance.

Fortune did not smile on him, however, as once again Gaerost had remained in the south, dealing with business issues. Eomer still could not fathom the man taking so little interest in his betrothed, but then neither could he comprehend marrying without love. Perhaps it was not so difficult when one did not love one’s future spouse.

He tried not to be irritated when Lothiriel’s brothers remarked about all the things she was doing to make herself more pleasing to Gaerost. She had studiously learned chess, though Amrothos said he did not think she particularly enjoyed it. Eomer noted that she had also taken to wearing her hair differently, and Imrahil had observed that Gaerost had suggested it, when Eowyn happened to comment on the change.

It was none of his concern, and yet he could not help being annoyed that Lothiriel felt she must make herself over to suit Gaerost’s desires. Apparently it was not uncommon in Gondor, but he had thought Imrahil’s daughter would show greater resistance to such officious behavior, even from her betrothed.

At least in the midst of his agitated thoughts there was one bright spot. Lothiriel and Sirrin had taken Eowyn in hand, substituting for her dearth of female relatives or friends, to help her prepare for her wedding. As Eomer felt decidedly inept in that regard, he was grateful for their attentions to his sister, and clearly it relieved Eowyn’s mind.

Eowyn was a beautiful bride. He had never seen her so radiant before, and she practically floated beside him as they made their way to the Tower Hall for the ceremony. On the other hand, Faramir looked nearly as thrilled, and Eomer was sure the Steward had stopped breathing momentarily when first sighting Eowyn approaching him.

Forcing down the twinges of envy, Eomer took his place to the side, very much regretting that Lothiriel stood in his sightline as Eowyn’s attendant. Fixing his gaze somewhere past her left shoulder, he tried to keep his focus plastered on Aragorn’s words and not notice how lovely Lothiriel looked, or how very much he wished this ceremony was binding the two of them.

For a while, he tried to rationally view the situation, reviewing all the reasons why his behavior was ridiculous. He barely knew Lothiriel, after all, and how could he possibly come to love someone so deeply in so short a time. Likely it was merely the fact that she was unattainable that made him yearn so for her. Once she was actually married, perhaps he could then throw off this absurd infatuation. And maybe he could also learn to fly by flapping his arms, he thought scornfully! Rational or not, he knew what he felt. He was not given to silly fancies, nor did he give his heart lightly. The truth was that he had fallen in love with Lothiriel, and he could not deny it, even to himself. He might be forced to keep silent, he might have to acknowledge that she belonged to another, but for good or ill he could not refute his love for her.

Eomer remembered little of the wedding celebration. His tormented thoughts gave him no rest, and his sole occupation was avoiding the lady he could not have. The Rohirrim were due to leave in two days time, and it would be a relief to go. Imrahil had invited him to visit Dol Amroth while in the East, but he begged off, giving the coming winter as a reason to return home directly.

Despite his efforts not to be alone with Lothiriel, he inadvertently found it happened anyway before he had made his escape from Mundburg. He had taken to strolling in the garden of the Citadel, enjoying the quiet and solitude, but it turned out that Lothiriel also had claimed that spot for respite, and early the morning before his departure, she happened upon him there, lost in his thoughts.

“Eomer…I did not think to see you here,” she remarked noncommittally.

“Perhaps it reminds me of home – the trees amid all this stone,” he answered, feeling decidedly awkward with her and wondering how he might curtail this meeting.

“I had not thought of that, but possibly that is why I enjoy it also,” she mused. “The sea affords such a sense of freedom that being enclosed in stone walls seems to leech away.”

They both fell silent then, not knowing what more to say. Gazing off over the Pelennor, he was seized by the hopelessness of their situation, and spoke without thinking. “I could wish,” he murmured, even knowing he should not say it, “that we had met sooner.” He did not explain the remark, but it was evident she took his meaning all the same.

She nodded. “Aye, I could wish that also, Eomer.” She was silent again, not noticing his startled glance, but then looked at him with great sadness in her eyes. “But we did not, and there is nothing to be done for it,” she said resolutely.

With a resigned sigh, he nodded his understanding.

A moment later she added softly, “I would hope…that we still might be friends, though. Is that possible, Eomer? I should very much like to count you as a friend.”

“Always,” he answered quietly, without hesitation. “You may depend on that, no matter what.” He wondered if she knew what it cost him to agree to it, but he could not deny her that, regardless of how difficult it would be to honor. She would marry Gaerost, and he must find someone to marry and bear his children, but he knew with perfect certainty that she would always be foremost in his heart. She cared for him, he was sure, but whether her own feelings in the matter were as strong as his or not, he did not know, and never would. He could not ask, and she could not tell him even if he did.

Straightening slightly, she told him, “I should go. My family will be expecting me for breakfast soon. If I do not see you again before you leave, safe journey to you. I…I will write now and then to let you know how things are in Gondor. I do not think you may depend on the male members of my family to keep you so informed.”

Her words were intended to lighten the tension between them, and he let them have that effect. “Likely you are correct,” he said with a smile. “I doubt I shall be an exemplary correspondent myself, but I will do my best. Safe journey to you also, and…best wishes in your marriage.”

“Shall…you attend the wedding? It will be next spring, likely in May though we have not yet fixed a date.” She did not look at him while posing the question.

“I do not know,” he said guardedly. “I will have to see how things transpire at home, and whether I am able to leave at that time.”

She did not press him for anything more definite. “We will hope to see you then. I know Father would wish to host you in our home.”

There was more awkwardness, before she dropped a curtsy and told him, “Goodbye, Eomer.”

“Goodbye,” he murmured as she moved away, and he watched her until she was lost to his sight. “Goodbye forever, Lothiriel,” he whispered to the wind.

_to be continued_

Gaerost – “sea fortress”  
Iorlin – “old song”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still offline at home - had to bring laptop to work to use wi-fi. Will post the next chapter on Friday rather than Sat. since there's no guarantee I'll have internet at home over the weekend.

**Chapter 3** (April, 3020 III) 

During the course of the winter, Eomer finally believed he was beginning to get his feelings for Lothiriel under control. The pain that had eaten at his insides had subsided to a dull ache. As promised, she had written to him, newsy letters of the happenings in both Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith, but she was careful to keep the tone of the missives light and airy, not delving too deeply into any areas that might stir up flames. He responded in kind, saying nothing substantial but maintaining their contact as he had said he would. He very much suspected that once she was married, the letters would stop anyway. Surely Gaerost would not wish her to continue the correspondence, if he learned of it – that is, unless he felt there was something to be gained by it. Eomer knew it was a cynical view of the man, and possibly he was doing him a disservice, but in all their associations Eomer had been unimpressed with Gaerost. Maybe his view was colored by the circumstances, but he did not think so. He had never had much use for men like Gaerost; that he was betrothed to Lothiriel was only an added reason to dislike him.

As spring finally arrived and the temperatures warmed, he still had not reached a decision about attending Lothiriel’s wedding. An announcement had come, fixing the date for the 25th of May, but though he thought it might be rude to Imrahil, he was not sure he could put himself through that torture. He had promised to always be her friend, but did that necessarily include such torment? He could not decide, so he deferred the choice a little longer.

He had written to Imrahil, and Lothiriel, in late February but as yet received no response, which he thought odd, though it did not overly worry him. Possibly both were just very busy at the moment and would write when time permitted. Even so, it took until mid-April before the expected packet came from Dol Amroth. As Lothiriel had been a faithful correspondent, sending a letter in every packet, however brief it was, he was a little surprised to find nothing from her included. Thinking perhaps Imrahil’s missive would offer some reason, he quickly slit the seal to read it.

_My dear friend,_

_I must apologize for taking so very long in responding to your letter. Sadly, I have a very good reason for my tardiness, for our family is facing a great tragedy just now._

Eomer sat up straighter and pulled the letter closer into the light of the lamp, his attention riveted where it had not been before.

_I would not alarm you, Eomer, but our sorrow concerns our daughter, Lothiriel._

Not alarm him! His heart was in his throat, and he felt a terror like nothing he had ever felt in battle.

_She is…well, as well as can be expected under the circumstances. There was a most unfortunate accident._

Imrahil’s handwriting had become unsteady then, making his words difficult to read, and the ink was smudged in spots, as though dampness had been blotted from the paper. Fervently, Eomer scanned more quickly – he must know the details.

_Lord Gaerost had suggested that it might be better if Lothiriel were to learn to ride using a sidesaddle, as other refined ladies do in Gondor. I had never pressed that issue prior to this, but as it seemed important to him and Lothiriel was willing, she undertook the learning of it._

_As you might expect, it is a tricky proposition and likely it would have been better to use a steadier animal than Lothiriel’s usual mount, but alas we see perfectly in hindsight, do we not? The horse became fractious and Lothiriel lost her balance. Her horse reacted poorly to the shift in Lothiriel’s weight and my daughter was thrown upon the pavement. There is a decorative border of stones near the stables – ones that never seemed all that dangerous until that moment. The side of her face was slashed by one of them, only just missing damage to her eye. The healers have treated her with the utmost delicacy, but there is little doubt she will bear an unsightly scar along her face, from brow to chin, despite their efforts. Aragorn has been kind enough to prepare an ointment used by the Elves that is good at reducing scars, but only so much may be done. Now she keeps to her bed, refusing to be seen outside of her room, and only permitting a very few to enter there._

_I confess I am greatly disappointed in Lord Gaerost. I do not blame him for the accident, do not misunderstand._

Eomer wasn’t so sure that wasn’t too generous on Imrahil’s part! Lothiriel! Beautiful, lovely Lothiriel – to be so marred.

_My anger toward him is more directed toward his behavior since the accident. Bad enough what my beloved daughter is suffering with her injuries and her own concerns about them, but the man – her betrothed! – only came to visit her once, and then only briefly. He claimed he had business that kept him away, but I do not believe it. I saw his face when he first glimpsed her! There was revulsion in his look, and not for his part in the matter! I believe Lothiriel saw it, too, for a few days later, she instructed me to offer to break the betrothal, and I was not greatly surprised when Gaerost made no protest!_

_How despicable, to abandon her at such at time! I know they were not deeply in love, it is true, but to behave so callously toward anyone is wrong! I will never be able to think well of the man again. I am not someone who holds grudges, but I believe in his case I will make an exception._

_Ah, my friend, I know you do not blame me my anger, and will not think ill of me for my reaction to all this. As you may imagine, our home has been in an uproar ever since it happened, nearly a month past now._

_I can say no more, for there are no words. I thank you for being a listening ear, as I have hesitated to speak much of my feelings about this to anyone here._

_I hope all is well with you._

_Best wishes,_

_Imrahil_

Imrahil’s reaction was mild compared to Eomer’s! If he were there, Gaerost would wish the accident had happened to him rather than Lothiriel, for then his injuries would have been far less painful! To treat his betrothed so thoughtlessly was inexcusable! Even if they had not loved deeply, she was to be his wife!

For several moments, Eomer paced his study, raking his hands through his hair and muttering dire threats toward Gaerost, but then his focus began to shift. What of Lothiriel? Injured, disfigured, abandoned…his heart ached for her and what she must be suffering. He knew her family loved her dearly, and would draw close around her, but still he knew how difficult it would be. Many men had returned from the war with maiming injuries or scars, both outward and inward. Limbs were lost and self-esteem shattered. The Rohirrim were a proud people, and the thought of being useless was extremely wearing to a man’s soul. He had been faced with rebuilding the tattered lives of his people along with their homes.

Eomer wanted nothing more than to ride for Dol Amroth at once and hold Lothiriel close, chasing away the fear and hurt she suffered, but it was not possible. He could not leave just now, and was not sure she would welcome him at present anyway. They had become good friends, it was true, but in many ways they were yet strangers.

He sat heavily back down in his chair, scowling across the room, annoyed with the injustice of it all. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but the lamp that had been burning low had guttered out, so that the room was largely dark. Abruptly he rose and strode to the door, calling for Gamling. Moments later, dispatches were being sent to Erkenbrand and Elfhelm, and Eomer watched with satisfaction as the messengers departed the hall. He was a man of action, and this situation was no different than any other. He had decided the best thing to do – he would see it done.

xxxxx (May, 3020 III)

The journey to Dol Amroth was made quickly, as Eomer made it a point to travel fast and light. He took only enough clothing sufficient for a lengthy stay, but set aside the trappings of a king. This was not an official visit, by any means, and there was no one he cared to impress.

The escort party with him, including his dear friend Eothain, did not urge conversation, sensing his mood. He was grateful they did not press him for information, almost as grateful as he had been to his Marshals and Gamling for their ready assistance. Neither Elfhelm nor Erkenbrand had questioned his actions, simply agreeing to do as he requested, and though Gamling felt unequal to standing in his place at Edoras, he had not hesitated to accept the charge given him by his king.

He knew it was unusual, to turn rule of the kingdom over to these three during his extended absence, but it was necessary, and the only reasonable way he could see to manage the situation. He did not know how long he would need to be in Dol Amroth to accomplish his purpose, but he wanted to feel assured his kingdom was in good hands for however long it was required.

He had considered sending a message to Imrahil, and also Aragorn, informing them of his plans, but then decided against it. Likely there could be many arguments made against his actions, but he did not intend to listen to any of them. He _would_ follow through with this, hopefully to his desired conclusion.

Eomer barely noticed the passage through the mountain from the Dimholt road, and he was too absorbed in his thoughts to really take notice of the sea when at last it came into view. What did hold his attention was that they would be passing through Edhellond on their way to Dol Amroth. He was sorely tempted to stop there long enough to hunt down Gaerost and make him sorry he was ever born, but he was enough in control of himself to realize a king could hardly act thus regardless of the inducement.

The trip had taken far longer than he wished, some nine days of travel, but certainly it was quicker than going through the whole of Gondor in order to make use of the roadways. His men were weary when at last they approached the castle, gleaming brightly in the waning afternoon sun. Truth be told, he was also, but knowing he would soon see Lothiriel gave him a rush of energy that would carry him through the next few hours.

Horns announced their arrival, and Imrahil came out to discover who their visitors were. He could not quite disguise his amazement when he recognized who was approaching. As Eomer dismounted, the Prince stepped forward.

“Eomer? How good to see you, but I…was not expecting your visit,” Imrahil greeted, looking perplexed.

Eomer understood his confusion, not having received notice of the king’s pending arrival. “My apologies for taking you by surprise, my friend. I will explain inside.”

Handing Firefoot’s reins to Eothain, Eomer moved to join the Prince in climbing the stairs to the castle. They were met in the entrance hall by Sirrin, eyeing them questioningly, and Imrahil motioned for her to join them in his study. She took her husband’s arm as he led the way, and Eomer followed slightly behind them. Once inside, Sirrin went to pour wine for each of them, and when all had taken seats, Eomer considered what to say. Rising, he paced the room briefly before telling them rather bluntly, “I will not keep you in suspense as to my intent. I am here to persuade your daughter to marry me.”

They both stared at him in stunned silence. Sirrin was the first to recover her voice and stood, her posture reflecting barely-controlled anger. “How dare you! Has Lothiriel not suffered enough without you coming here to –”

Eomer raised a hand to stay her, and something in his countenance pressed her to reluctant silence. Slowly she sank back down next to Imrahil, her hands clenched in her lap as she gazed stonily at the king, awaiting further explanation.

“I know this is sudden, and perhaps you think it inappropriate, but perhaps it is also necessary. I love her. I have from nearly the first moment we met, even though I knew she could never be mine. I have tried these many months to put her from my heart and mind, but it has all been in vain. I do not delight in the misfortune that has broken Lothiriel’s betrothal, though I am relieved that she was not deeply in love with Gaerost. This may seem opportunistic of me, to approach her now and speak my feelings, but perhaps now more than ever she needs to know that she is valued and loved, regardless of her appearance.”

“You have not even seen her injury, Eomer. You cannot know how you will react to it when you do,” Imrahil pointed out.

“I know my heart. Your description of the scar makes me believe it does little to alter her beauty, but even if it were something more prominent, I would not care. I promise you, I am sincere in this, and I will not yield,” Eomer avowed.

“But will your people care?” Imrahil questioned. “Will they be so accepting of a disfigured queen, or will they oppose the match? Have you considered that?”

“The Mark is not like Gondor, my friend. We are not so focused on outward appearances as we are on what lies within. A scar draws the eye, it is unavoidable, but they will look beyond it. If her heart proves true, they will not care what she looks like,” Eomer asserted.

Imrahil and Sirrin shared worried looks, not at all sure this was a good idea. Knowing they likely needed more information before they would cease to oppose him, Eomer continued, “I know what I am asking is most unusual. And it will become even more so when you know what I plan.” He paused, thinking for a moment, then told them firmly, “Though she never spoke it, I believe Lothiriel had also developed feelings for me, but knew that she could not act upon them. Both of us have been completely circumspect, and there is nothing which you need reproach, but now that she is no longer bound to Gaerost, I would have her confess her affections and marry me. I do not expect it to be that simple, of course. I am sure she is angry and likely somewhat bitter, over the circumstances and over the traitorous way Gaerost has treated her, and likely she will assume my suit is born of pity. It is not so. I loved her before and I love her still. Given enough time, I will persuade her of that.”

“How?” Sirrin challenged, and he knew it was a fair question.

“I…would have you allow me free access to Lothiriel, allow me to care for her – give her medicine or food or whatever she requires,” he told them. “But particularly I would wish to keep her family away from her for some time.”

“What!” Imrahil exclaimed. “Eomer, you cannot be serious! It would be most inappropriate for you to enter her bedchamber and be so…intimate with our daughter. I cannot allow such a thing! And why would you wish to deprive her of her family’s love and care?”

Eomer sighed. “Could you, if she asked it – asked it with heartwrenching sobs and tears streaming down her face – refuse her request to make me leave? I do not believe you could, and I would not blame you for that. I fully expect her anguish to make her try to drive me away, and she will seek her family’s assistance in doing so. The same might also be true of servants, who perhaps have long served your household and feel far greater allegiance to Lothiriel than to an interloper from the north.” He hesitated, then suggested, “Is there a servant that knows her well, but could resist her pleas and do what is best for her rather than what she asks? I know I could not be the one to assist her with certain personal matters, and I do not ask that, but I could bring her food and keep her company, and yes, it would require me to spend a great deal of time in her bedchamber. I can only give you my word I would never touch her or act inappropriately.”

Imrahil rubbed wearily at his face as his wife stared at him, waiting for his answer to Eomer’s remarks. She allowed her hand to come to rest on his back in a show of support for whatever he decided, trusting he would do nothing to harm their daughter. After several long moments, Imrahil turned to gaze into his wife’s eyes, and then drew her close to him in the curve of his arm. “Beloved, I think we must do as Eomer asks.” He saw a protest forming on her lips and hurriedly added, “I trust him implicitly – he would never dishonor our daughter. And I confess I had suspected that the two of them might be having feelings for each other despite Lothiriel’s betrothal. Had I been able to do anything about it, I would have, since I should much rather see her married for love than alliance.” Then turning his gaze to Eomer, though continuing to speak to his wife, he said, “We will let him attempt this, for a time, but I will not allow Lothiriel to suffer further anguish indefinitely. If in due course she does not warm to the idea, we will have to reconsider the matter.”

Eomer nodded his understanding, judging this was more capitulation than he had thought he would get.

Slowly rising, Sirrin told him in a tight-lipped, strained voice, “I will go and tell my daughter that she has a visitor.” It was clear that she did not approve of this decision, but she was prepared to do as her husband thought best in the matter.

Also standing, Eomer shook his head. “No, do not announce me. If there is someone with her, lure them from the room on some pretense, and then I will go to her when she is alone. If she knows I am come, she will resist and I would not distress you by your having to hear her pleas. It would be the undoing of a mother’s tender heart, I fear,” he said, not unkindly.

In less than a quarter of an hour, Sirrin rejoined them in the study, and nodded reluctantly to Eomer that her purpose had been accomplished – Lothiriel was now alone. Eomer had not wasted the time, using it to press Imrahil for as many details as he could of Lothiriel’s physical condition and mindset. Now he glanced at his friend and gestured for him to lead the way to the girl’s room.

Before they reached it, Imrahil indicated a room across the hall from it and down one. “We will put your things in here and I will see your men settled for the duration, Eomer.” He waved his hand down the hall a short way where a chair sat outside a door. “A servant has been sitting there at all times in case Lothiriel has need of anything, since she chooses not to leave her bed. I will send someone to be there if you need to give them instruction of any kind. They will know where to find me or my wife at all times. You…will not be joining us for meals?”

Eomer shook his head. “Not unless Lothiriel is persuaded to do likewise. So long as she remains in her room, I shall remain her only company.”

“You have traveled long. Shall I have a meal brought to you now?” Imrahil asked.

“I would appreciate that, enough for two in case she is enticed to join me. It is about the supper hour anyway,” Eomer acknowledged.

With a sigh, Imrahil clapped a hand on the king’s shoulder, and steered him on to Lothiriel’s room. “I very much hope this works, Eomer. She is lost to us at present, and all the wonderful things that she was. I do hope you are able to find her again.”

“Be assured I will give it my very best effort, my friend. And you know I am not a man who easily accepts defeat!” He offered a grin, though there was little amusement in it, and Imrahil managed to force a smile in return. Then, turning abruptly, the Prince hurried away before he could change his mind, leaving Eomer staring at the door. 

After a moment, he drew a deep breath and lifted the latch, not bothering to knock. When he stepped into the room, Lothiriel was so lost in reverie, staring at the wall across the room, that she did not even look up, probably assuming it was the servant returning. Eomer took the opportunity to study her.

Though her hair hung loose about her shoulders, she must have recently shoved it back over her shoulders, for the side of her face was revealed to him, exposing the still red line along the length of it. The injury was much as he had envisioned from Imrahil’s description, but it did not hold his interest. Of more importance was the expression on her face. In all the time he had known her, he had never seen such sorrow. Always she had displayed an agreeable disposition, and though her countenance might sober at times, appropriate to the circumstances, this was much different. She looked bewildered and lost, and his heart ached to see it. Was there any chance he could bring that light back to her eyes? He very much hoped so.

Just then, she seemed to pull from her thoughts and become aware of him. He felt certain he had not made any sound to attract her notice, so perhaps she had finally become conscious that someone had entered the room. Her eyes flicked toward the door disinterestedly, and then went wide in a mixture of astonishment and horror. He suspected it took all of her native self-control not to scream at the sight of a man in her bedchamber, even if she recognized him immediately.

“Wh…what are you doing here?” she stammered, snatching the bedcovers up around her neck.

“I have come to see you,” he answered, taking a few steps closer.

His words reminded her of her appearance and she abruptly turned her head, pulling her hair forward to hide her face. “There is nothing to _see_ here!” she snapped bitterly.

“On the contrary,” he said quietly, “I have always found it worth my while to gaze upon you.”

She choked slightly, as though holding back sobs at his words, but then her jaw tightened. “Father will have your neck for daring to sneak into my bedchamber like this, king or not!”

“No,” he told her calmly. “Your father knows that I am here – he showed me which room was yours. Your mother also knows.”

Her head jerked around and her eyes went wide. “Im…impossible!” she exclaimed in disbelief, watching him warily. “They would not permit such a thing!”

Reaching for a chair near the bed, he settled himself comfortably in it, smiling at her. He loved the fire that anger put in her eyes, causing them to shine with passion, and that he could finally admire it without feeling guilty. “I have come to help you through this,” he said, ignoring her statement. “They know this is difficult for you and hope that I am successful.”

Against her will, tears trickled from her eyes, but she refused to acknowledge them by brushing them away. “Go away! I do not want you here!” she shouted.

“I am disappointed to hear that. I had thought we were friends. Still, I am not leaving. Perhaps you will not object so much after a while.”

Her hands had balled into frustrated fists, as she struggled to find words. “Why will you not leave me alone?” she finally wailed in aggravation.

“Because I love you,” he answered softly. “And I will not leave you to endure this alone, my love.”

Her mouth worked but no words came forth, until finally she murmured, “Lord Gaerost –”

“Gaerost accepted your offer to break the betrothal. The man is a fool to let you go, but I will gladly take advantage of his stupidity! He did not deserve you!” he interrupted with visible annoyance, not bothering to use Gaerost’s title. A nobleman should _display_ some nobility if he was to be granted such deference.

“What are you saying?” she asked, not looking at him, but fixing her gaze on her hands clenched in her lap.

“I am asking you to marry me,” he replied, seeing no reason to elaborate with fancy words.

“Why would you want to marry _me_?” she questioned bitterly, her jaw tightening again. “What can I offer a king?”

“I would marry the woman that I love, and that is you. I did not become enamored of your beauty alone, but of you. There is _much_ you have to offer a king, more than any other woman I have known, but I ask only for your heart, and that you be my wife. Nothing else matters,” he replied with quiet assurance. “You no longer see your beauty, but still it blinds me with its radiance every time I so much as think of you.”

There was a knock at the door then, and he suspected it was the meal Imrahil had offered to send. Rising, he moved to answer it while giving her a chance to ponder his words. He set the tray on the table beside her bed, and drew his chair nearer to it. “Will you join me? I am ravenous after such a long ride.”

“I am not hungry,” she snapped, refusing to look at him. 

Suppressing a grin, Eomer removed the cover to the food, hoping the smell would drift toward her and tempt her to reconsider. From the corner of his eye, he saw her nose twitch and she cast a furtive glance toward the food, but she did not recant her declaration.

In contrast, Eomer’s stomach rumbled in anticipation, and he eagerly dug into the meal set before him, eating with relish. When he had finished, he left the tray sitting there and excused himself, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him. The servant waiting there showed him to the privy in his chambers. While there, he also removed his armor and combed the tangles from his hair, leaving it unbound. In truth, it was not essential that he do any of this, but he wanted to give Lothiriel at least a few minutes alone to rethink her refusal of food, and be able to sneak something from the tray when he was not present.

Though he pretended not to notice, he was sure she was quickly resuming her previous position in the bed when he returned. “Oh, I should have thought to give the tray to the servant. Are you sure you will not eat something before I do?” She quickly shook her head, avoiding his eyes, and he took the tray to the door, handing it out to the waiting servant.

Moving back to the bed, he adjusted the chair’s position and again took a seat. He doubted she was going to be willing to talk with him just yet, so he launched into a one-sided account of what he had been doing through the course of the winter and the state of affairs in Rohan. She never made a comment through the entire monologue, sliding down further under the covers and closing her eyes.

He suspected the action was intended to make him believe she was disinterested in what he was saying, or even asleep, but he did not accept either interpretation. She was trying to drive him away, but little did she realize the tenacity he had honed as a Marshal of the Mark. He had long had to practice patience and endurance. He could wait this out however long it took.

It was several hours later before he rose and stretched. “I think I will turn in now. Do not hesitate to send for me in the night if you need anything.”

Belying her pretense of sleep, her eyes blinked open. “I will _not_ be sending for you! You may depend on that!” she told him with a glare.

Ignoring her remark, he merely smiled tenderly down at her, and then, before she could realize his intent, he stooped and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Good night, my love.”

Recoiling with both shock and anger at his audacity, suddenly she turned her head and whipped the hair back from her face, revealing the scar to his full gaze. “Here! See for yourself, since you came all this way to gape at it! Hideous, is it not?” she demanded.

Slowly he reached out a finger and drew it gently down her face alongside the scar. Against her will, she shivered at the contact. “You are as beautiful as ever. This is of no consequence, beloved,” he assured her softly.

“Stop calling me that!” she hissed.

“What else should I call my wife-to-be?” he asked with a grin. “Say you will marry me, Lothiriel. I need you beside me, always.”

“No!” she told him firmly, fighting to keep her voice steady and refusing to meet his eyes. “I will _not_ marry you, my lord!”

For several moments, Eomer did not move, but then slowly he moved his chair out of the way. She had halfway expected him to storm angrily out of her room, but instead he moved closer to the bed and bent low toward her ear. She tried not to react to his nearness, but his words were nearly her undoing.

“You think,” he said softly, “that by refusing me, I will go and trouble you no further. You are mistaken. I am _not_ leaving. I am _not_ giving up on you. I have faced far greater challenges than this, and I _will_ win. I love you, Lothiriel, and _nothing_ will change that. Eventually, you will come to accept it in your heart, and accept me as your husband.” The next moment, he pressed another kiss to her hair, straightened, and moved calmly to the door, no indication of hurt or rejection in his manner.

When the door closed behind him, Lothiriel’s control crumbled and she broke into great gasping sobs. _Why could he not see this was impossible? Why would he not merely accept that fate had dealt them a cruel hand?_ She wept until she could weep no more, falling into an exhausted slumber, but even there she found no rest, for Eomer filled her dreams as his presence had filled her room.

_to be continued_

Gaerost – “sea fortress”  
Iorlin – “old song”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still offline at home.

**Chapter 4** (up to this point has been mainly Eomer’s POV; from here on you will get Lothiriel’s also, intermingled)

When Lothiriel awoke the next morning, she almost expected to find that the previous day’s events had been a dream – even a nightmare – but, instead, Eomer appeared in her room early, giving only a short warning knock before entering. Accompanying him was Iorlin, a longtime servant in Imrahil’s household, who had watched Lothiriel grow up. She was a no-nonsense sort of person, and she efficiently bustled around the room, tidying it until she deemed it acceptable. 

Had Eomer not been present, Lothiriel would have plead her case to this familiar person, but upon consideration, she wondered what Iorlin could do if her own parents were permitting this intrusion. Once the room was in order, Iorlin brusquely dismissed Eomer to wait in the hall while she got Lothiriel washed and into fresh clothing. Though Lothiriel had remained in bedclothes ever since the accident, she decided if Eomer was going to insist on being in her room for an extended period, it would be better if she dressed in more appropriate clothing.

Iorlin found a simple blue dress, not a great deal different than her nightgowns, and then brushed out her hair once the girl was clean and attired. Before she could leave, with an affectionate smile toward her charge, Lothiriel decided to at least attempt an entreaty, though she suspected what the outcome would be.

“Iorlin, please! You must make my father understand that I do not wish King Eomer to attend me! Or send him to me so that I may tell him myself!” Lothiriel pressed.

“Now, now, dearie, all will be well. The young man is very fond of you, and you could do far worse than attract the attention of a king. Just you relax and let him fawn over you if he wishes. If it was me, I should be all aflutter that so handsome a man would take such notice of me!” She flashed Lothiriel a toothy grin, blushing slightly at her silliness, and bustled out the door before the girl could make further protest.

Lothiriel glared at the door she had closed behind her, crossing her arms in annoyance. Why was her entire household turned against her? It was too much to bear!

At the sound of the latch, she suspected Eomer was returning, and dove into the bed, settling under the covers and fixing a stony look upon her face. She would not be cordial to him! Despite his words last night, she would weary him with her disagreeable attitude until he finally admitted defeat and left. She ruthlessly suppressed the part of her that desperately wanted him to stay. She had spent the past two months building a solid wall around herself. Did he truly care enough to breach that wall, or would he break upon it?

The next instant, he was beside her bed, again drawing the chair near and greeting her pleasantly. She had fixed her gaze away from him, so she did not notice until too late when he bent to again kiss her head. Why should so simple a thing send such a jolt through her? Stiffening, she did not respond to his pleasantries, but he sprawled in the chair without seeming concern over it.

Eomer was not a man much given to inactivity, so he was only able to sit for so long. Eventually, he got up and paced around the room, pausing now and then to look more closely at various personal items with which Lothiriel had decorated it. She felt mildly affronted by such familiarity, but realizing protests would fall on deaf ears, she kept silent and fumed to herself over his presumption. To both her annoyance and surprise, she found herself wondering what _his_ private rooms looked like, and what mementos they might contain. She knew men were not so given to such frivolity, particularly the very practical Rohirrim, but she could not fully turn aside her curiosity, though she refused to yield to the temptation to ask him about it.

The morning was well upon them when he turned to look at her and invite, “Shall we take a walk outside? I noticed there is a garden I can see from my window, with a fine view of the town and the sea. You could point out interesting sights to me.”

“I do not want to go outside,” she replied primly, smoothing a hand over the bedcovering, pretending to remove a wrinkle.

“Why not? The fresh air would do you good after such a lengthy confinement,” he observed.

“I do not want fresh air. I do not want sunlight. I do not want to go _anywhere_ with you!” she avowed, giving him her sternest look.

It did not have the desired effect. Instead, he merely smiled cheekily and told her, “Well, perhaps after a while you will change your mind about that. It is no matter, though, as I quite enjoy spending all this time alone with you!”

He turned away then, mostly so she would not see the amusement in his eyes. He knew full well how she would react to his words, so he moved to stand at the window and gaze out while she huffed and glared at his back.

_He was insufferable! How dare he suggest that…that there was something ‘intimate’ about this situation! She was a prisoner, nothing more!_ Even at the thought, though, a twinge of honesty reminded her that was not entirely true. If she was a prisoner, it was in a prison of her own making. No one was forcing her to remain in her room, and he was inviting her to escape. What he did not understand, could not understand, was how terrifying that notion was. She could not bear to have people staring at her, whispering behind their hands and behind her back about her marred appearance. She had never been a vain woman, rarely giving much thought to her looks beyond good grooming, but now her looks were all she could think of. She had seen the revulsion on Gaerost’s face when he had looked at her, seen how eager he was to remove himself from her presence.

She swallowed hard. In all fairness, it had not been so with Eomer. With him, she had not even seen sympathy in his gaze, much less pity. How was it possible that when _he_ looked at her she almost forgot her scarred face? Could his love for her truly be blinding him to her disfigurement? She tightened her jaw, forcing the thought aside. Impossible! No one could ignore such a thing. He was…pretending, that was all.

Unbidden, tears trickled down her cheeks and she slid down in the bed to bury her face in the pillow to hide her weeping. She thought she was silent, and since his attention was focused outside he would not notice, but she was mistaken. A moment later, the bed shifted under his weight as he sat beside her and drew her into his embrace. The tender gesture broke her reserve and she wept brokenly, ashamedly clinging to him and dampening the shirt he wore.

She would not have expected such a large, powerful warrior to be so gentle, but his hand comfortingly rubbed her back as he held her, and soft words fell from his lips until her emotion subsided. At length, when he felt her begin to draw away, he laid her back against the pillows and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Try to sleep for a little while, my love. Perhaps you will feel refreshed by it.” Giving her head one last stroke, he rose and silently made for the door. She did not know that he hastily made for his room, to hide the tears that fell from his own battle-hardened eyes.

xxx

Over the next few days, little changed. Iorlin turned up each morning to tend Lothiriel’s needs and tidy the room, then was not seen again until the next day, and Lothiriel had given up finding an ally in her. While Imrahil was beginning to doubt the wisdom of this course, Eomer was able to persuade him to allow it to continue a while longer. Sirrin still remained reluctant, but continued to accede to her husband’s determination in the matter.

Two days later, as Eomer was in his own chambers, allowing Lothiriel time to sneak food since she still adamantly refused to eat with him, he happened to look from the window and spy an unbelievable sight – Lord Gaerost coming to the castle. Deeming it best not to confront the man, he watched for some time until Gaerost left a half hour later, and then hastened to find Imrahil and discover what he had wanted. If he thought to reestablish a betrothal with Lothiriel, he could think again. Eomer had no intention of even allowing the man to see her.

Imrahil was surprised when Eomer knocked at his study door, having seen little of his friend in the time he had been at Dol Amroth. Eomer wasted no time in explaining. “I saw Gaerost leaving – I happened to be looking out my window. Do you mind telling me what he wanted?”

The prince scowled and sat down heavily in his chair, gesturing for Eomer to also be seated. At length, he said, “Despite what has occurred with Lothiriel, we still must do business with him. He is the most prominent shipper along the coast and that tie could not be severed, though Elphir has made it clear to his former friend the low regard in which he is held by our entire household. I rather think my son took great pleasure in informing Gaerost of your presence, and intent, here. I do not think he was pleased by it, but then I do not particularly care. We may have to do business with him, but we do not have to like him.”

Eomer wasn’t sure he could be so pragmatic were he in Imrahil’s shoes, but the decision was not his to make however much it rankled him. While he was pondering what the prince had told him, Imrahil reached for a packet on his desk. “I was going to bring this to you shortly. You have received letters from Rohan, which perhaps you will need to read sooner rather than later. I cannot think you can long be out of communication with them.”

The king reached for the letters, but shrugged. “I trust the men I left in charge in my absence. I will read these this afternoon while Lothiriel sleeps. I have left her alone too long now. Is there a place I might do a little work – with paper and ink available to me?”

“Of course. Just across the hall is the library. I will arrange all you might need there, and you can come and go as suits you. Let a servant know if I overlook anything.”

Eomer nodded and rose, smiling at his friend. “Do not despair. I do believe I am making progress, despite her resistance. We _will_ win this battle!”

When Eomer returned to Lothiriel’s room, she eyed him curiously, but refused to inquire where he had been for so long. He decided not to mention Gaerost, instead telling her he had been visiting with her father and of the letters from home that had come. 

Part of her twinged guiltily; surely he could not afford to be spending all this time with her and neglecting his kingdom, but she did not think adding that reason to her list of why he should leave her would be any more effective than any other. If he was here, he had made plans at home, and would not be convinced to alter them until it suited him to do so.

As he ate the noon-day meal alone, Lothiriel pointedly pretending not to care even though he surely had to know she could not have failed to eat for this length of time, a new idea came to Eomer, and he determined to try it out at suppertime. Figuring he could use the letters that had come as an excuse to be gone from her, thus allowing her to sneak some food, he begged her pardon and made his way to the library.

With a sigh, he settled on a couch and began perusing the missives. He was relieved that there was nothing of great consequence contained therein. All of his Marshals were merely reporting in, but expressed no dire situations that required his attention. As he was finishing his response to the last letter, a knock came at the door and, at his summons, a servant entered to announce, “Lord Gaerost to see you, my lord.”

Eomer’s eyebrow rose into his hairline. Did the man wish for death, coming to see him? “By all means, show him in,” he drawled, moving to seat himself behind a large desk in order to appear as officious and overbearing as possible.

Gaerost strode into the room with surprising confidence, offering a cursory bow as the servant left. “King Eomer, I must speak with you.”

“Indeed?” Eomer replied, not granting the man leave to sit so that he was forced to stand fidgeting where he was. He was sure Gaerost understood that it was not an oversight.

“My lord, I must protest your courtship of my betrothed. I was here first, and therefore I have first claim on Lothiriel,” he pompously announced, getting straight to the point.

“Lothiriel offered to break the betrothal if you wished, and you accepted. You have no claim,” Eomer stated, more calmly than he felt. He could not fathom how the man could stand there and so callously discuss Lothiriel as though she were something to be bartered.

“You contrived this!” Gaerost accused, with irritation. “You contrived this so you might steal Lothiriel from me and have her for yourself! I have seen the way you look at her. You have long desired her!”

Eomer’s face was expressionless as he slowly rose to his full height. Despite that, and his apparent calm, Gaerost sensed that he had gone too far. “ _I_ contrived this?” Eomer asked with deceptive quiet. “Which of us insisted that Lothiriel learn to ride sidesaddle, in order that she more closely match our view of acceptable? And which of us then failed to ensure that such learning occurred in a safe place, rather than on hazardous ground with evident dangers? And _which_ of us then abandoned her to her fate, and made no effort to oppose a breaking of the betrothal? _You_ walked away from her the first instant that her beauty became flawed, and you dare accuse me of _anything_? If you wish to remain breathing, you will leave this room now and never let me hear another word uttered about my ‘contrivances’!” 

Eomer’s voice had grown in volume and now ended with a virtual roar, causing Gaerost to recoil in fear. He was cowardly and petty, but he was not stupid. This man meant every word of his threat. Turning on his heel, and attempting to muster a shred of dignity, Gaerost hurried out the door, careful not to look back.

The yelling brought Amrothos and Imrahil running. “Eomer? What has happened?” asked the prince’s youngest son.

“Gaerost just paid me a visit – to accuse me of trying to _steal_ Lothiriel from him! Apparently he did not want her when he merely thought of her as the ‘damaged’ daughter of Imrahil, but he was pleased to have her if it meant besting the king of Rohan for her hand in marriage!” Eomer spat, pacing angrily around the room to vent his pent up hostility. He should have just hit the man and been done with it.

For several moments, the two Dol Amrothians merely stared at him, following his progress around the room, and then Imrahil laughed, causing Eomer to skid to a halt in surprise. “The fool! I am glad it is you and not some lesser man who seeks to wed my daughter, Eomer. Gaerost might intimidate another, but never you. I only wish I could have been here to see you put him in his place!”

Amrothos stared at his father in stupefaction, but then burst into a wide grin also as he began to register what had transpired. “Aye! And I should very much like to see him attempt to plead his case to King Elessar over how ill he has been treated! The King would likely chuck him off the Tower in disgust!”

Their remarks helped to calm him and, with an effort, Eomer stifled his anger at Gaerost, not wanting it evident to Lothiriel when he rejoined her in a few moments. He flashed a grin at his friends before departing, acknowledging their support, and moved out the door. 

_to be continued_

Gaerost – “sea fortress”  
Iorlin – “old song”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you for reading. Without internet at home, responding to comments hasn’t been possible (at work, using their wi-fi to get online, I only have limited time available), but I have enjoyed and appreciated them. I’m hoping internet issues will finally be resolved this week, though no guarantees. Not sure if I’ll try to start posting the next story until that is fixed, so there may be a delay. If you’re on Tumblr, you can follow me there for announcements when a new story/chapter posts. Look for https://www.tumblr.com/blog/dalleyan. The account is named Mindless Drivel.

**Chapter 5**

Lothiriel looked up eagerly at the sound of the latch, despite her best intentions not to react to him. She had found herself inadvertently speaking more and more words to him each day, discovering it was difficult to maintain silence when constantly in another person’s presence.

In an effort to occupy herself, hoping to shut him out in that way, she had attempted some activity, choosing those that could only be done by one person. It was difficult to do within the confines of her room, but a little creativity presented a couple of ideas. Her first attempt had been to pick up a book and read while he was there. Rather than shut him up or make him leave, however, she had been made to suffer his pestering questions about the book’s subject and story. To avoid more than a cursory answer, she had told him briefly what he asked and then assured him she would loan him the book when she was done and he could read it for himself. Instead of silencing him, he then proceeded to urge her to read it aloud so they both might enjoy it at once and he would have no need to borrow it later. Recognizing it as an attempt to get her to speak more with or to him, she had slapped the book shut and informed him she did not wish to read aloud!

There were few other options without leaving the room, so in desperation she had instructed Iorlin to bring her some yarn and her knitting tools. When she was completely honest with herself, she had begun to enjoy Eomer’s company, and felt guilty for taking so much of his time whilst being so disagreeable and aloof, but part of her still would not allow that conscious recognition. It had not occurred to her that in choosing to knit as part of her effort to ignore Eomer, she was in fact turning more outside herself than she had since the accident.

Not that doing so worked anyway. She had not thought there would be anything about knitting that he could find to discuss, or even be interested by, but she underestimated him. Like the great, tawny cat he sometimes reminded her of, he had taken to batting about the spare balls of yarn, until she was hard pressed to conceal the smile that wanted to erupt from her at his antics.

Now, trying studiously not to pay him much mind despite the pleasure she felt at his return, she did not miss that he seemed more tense than when he had left earlier. Somewhere in their time spent together, she had become more attuned to his mood. Though he greeted her cheerily, much as he had been doing ever since his arrival in Dol Amroth, there was a shadow in his eyes that captured her notice. He had previously mentioned receiving letters from home; perhaps something was amiss there. A twinge of concern went through her at the possibility that he would feel the need to return home at once, to deal with some situation they were facing. She was startled to realize how much she would miss him. Even so, she couldn’t quite bring herself to question him about it, leaving it to him to tell her what he would.

If there was something bothering him, though, he chose not to mention it. He spent the next while telling her news he had received from home, and of the challenges they yet faced, but if there had been anything alarming in the missives, he kept it from her. She was almost curious enough to break her silence and question him about it when the meal tray arrived, and he went to claim it. 

Watching him set it out on the table by her bed, and going through their usual ritual of his inviting her to join him and her declining, she wondered that he had never mentioned the obvious. She was not so blind as to not realize that his always being brought far more food than he could eat, with extra plates and utensils as well, and his always leaving the room after he ate, while the food remained there, was meant to allow her to sneak food. She knew it and he knew it, but nothing was ever said. He never chastised her for being silly, and seemingly made an effort to never catch her in the act.

Today was different, however, as the smells wafting from the uncovered food made her eyes widen and her mouth water. _The swine!_ His plate was filled with all of her favorite foods, and she could not think that was by chance. There were things on his plate that she doubted he even recognized, and she rather wondered if he would know how to eat them. Most of them were not easily reasoned out. Stubbornly refusing to yield, though, she still declined his invitation to join him. Keeping her head tilted seemingly away from him, her eyes fixed on what he was doing. 

When Eomer had had the idea to tempt her with her favorite foods, he had not allowed for the possibility that Dol Amroth had much that was unfamiliar to him. He eyed the plate cautiously, wondering how to go about eating this. 

The most startling item on the plate was obviously some sort of creature. As it was not moving, he could presume it was dead, though it seemed to have been cooked intact. There were two claw-like appendages at one end and a broad tail at the other, with a few small legs on either side of the body. It appeared to be covered with some sort of hard substance, which he assumed he should not eat, though that was not particularly helpful. Deciding to pass on that for the moment, he looked over the other items before him. One seemed to be a green plant thing, almost shaped like a flower, though it did not seem very appetizing. Picking it up with two fingers, he turned it over to study it carefully, sniffing once or twice for good measure. 

His stomach rumbled in protest of the delay in receiving food as he set that back down and picked up the odd red clusters of something. Attached to a stem, there were about a dozen of them. Each was a small ball covered with multiple projections. Tentatively he poked at the spines and discovered that they were soft to the touch, but he could not be sure if he should eat them, or this was something that required peeling.

Feeling mildly frustrated at this clever idea gone awry, he set the red clusters aside and focused on the one item that seemed familiar. He had eaten crayfish from the rivers around Rohan, and these did not seem much different though rather larger. There was a thin shell on them, which he knew should be removed before eating, but since his purpose was to lure Lothiriel into speaking and dining with him, he merely moved it toward his mouth without alteration. He could only hope she would protest well before he had to try to chew and swallow it!

For a moment, it did not look like she would rescue him, but at the last moment before it passed his lips, she uttered a cry of protest, bringing him instantly to a halt. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her, pretending not to understand her interruption. She stared at him for an instant, battling the inclination to keep her mouth shut, but at length she could not. “Do not…you must remove the shell before you eat them, Eomer.”

He wondered if she had noticed that she chose to call him Eomer rather than something more formal. “Oh?” he asked, feigning ignorance, as he pulled it back to give it another once-over glance. “Would you show me?” 

He held it out to her, and without thinking she reached for a plate to set in her lap, demonstrating the removal of the shell before eating the flesh and disposing of the tail of the giant prawn. “See? It is not difficult,” she told him.

He followed the example she set and smiled with pleasure. “These are wonderful! Much better than the crayfish that we have at home.”

She smiled at the remark, then urged, “Try the lobster. Here – let me have that small one and I will show you how it is done.” Moments later, he was copying her efforts by twisting off the legs and claws. Then, picking up a small vise-like device, she cracked off the end of the large claw, forcing the meat out of it with her finger. She dipped this in some melted butter before eating it, and he followed suit, raising his eyebrows as he enjoyed the unexpected flavor. They continued to work their way through the lobster, cracking open the various sections and drawing the meat out. 

Though delicious, Eomer did not think it quite made an entire meal, and hoped the rest of the food would prove a bit more filling. He downed a few more prawns as Lothiriel reached for the green plant thing, which she called an artichoke. He had seen these at Minas Tirith, but managed to avoid trying one there. Now he allowed her to instruct him in the process, though she only barely stopped him from biting into the hair-like part hidden under the leaves.

That only left the red clusters, which he once more picked up to turn over in his hand. Lothiriel also claimed a cluster and gushed, “I love these! They are rambutan. They are shipped here from Umbar, and quite a delicacy!” With practiced ease, she reached for a knife and slit the covering nearly all the way around. Prying the halves apart, she squeezed until the white fleshy fruit inside popped free. It vaguely resembled a boiled egg to Eomer’s eye, and did not seem very appealing, but Lothiriel was clearly eager to eat it. “There is a stone in the center, which you should not eat as it is rather bitter, but the fruit is exquisite!” she enthused. With that she began to devour the treat, and he watched with amusement as a bit of juice trickled down her chin.

_Did she know how alive her eyes were at this moment? Did she realize how good it was to see her focused on something other than fear and self-pity?_ He doubted it, but it warmed his heart to see it all the same. Gaerost must be the stupidest man who ever lived to have let her out of his life. 

At that thought, his eyes darkened again, and he looked down to work at opening his own rambutan so she would not see it. The slightly sour taste of the fruit momentarily distracted him, and they worked in silence opening and eating this last bit of their supper. When they had finished, he cleared the plates from her lap and dampened a cloth in the basin so she could wash her face and hands. She was beginning to withdraw inward again, he could tell, despite the relaxed time they had just spent. But he would settle for this just now. She needed time to overcome her reticence with him. He would not push her faster than she could comfortably go.

For her part, she was grateful that he did not remark on her capitulation in eating with him, rather embarrassed at how readily she had succumbed at the sight of her favorite foods. It had been very sneaky of him to use that ploy on her, but she could not help appreciating the gesture. Without even noticing it was happening, she had grown accustomed to his presence, and missed him when he was gone. Though supper had been taken in a companionable atmosphere, the shadow had returned to his eyes, and she very much wondered what troubled him. Perhaps tomorrow she would venture to ask him, if it yet lingered then. Maybe he was just tired.

xxx

Eomer had spent a restless night, not quite able to shake Gaerost from his thoughts. He could not believe the man had had the nerve to actually come and challenge his claim to Lothiriel. He reminded Eomer of a dog with a bone – he did not want it until some other dog tried to take it. For himself, he cared not about Gaerost. The man was completely unimportant, even if Imrahil and his family did feel they were required to continue to do business with him. But Eomer had no intention of allowing him to inflict any further pain on Lothiriel. Gaerost had best understand that, if he wished to stay healthy. Perhaps a king could not assault nobles in another realm, but Gaerost would not like an angry Eomer. He was certain Aragorn would support him, and do all he could to put pressure on the man if he became an irritant.

Come the morning, Eomer tried to remove the traces of his lack of sleep before going to see Lothiriel. He had mixed emotions, though, when she seemed to notice despite his efforts. After sharing yesterday’s meal together, she had reluctantly dropped the pretense of not being hungry, as they both knew it was ludicrous. Surely that was a positive development, as well as the fact that she was aware enough of him to know his unease, but he feared she would attempt to discern the reason and he did not want to venture in that direction.

To his surprise, though he had not expected she would be so bold, she had confronted him directly on the matter. Slipping from under the covers, she stood to face him. “You seem pensive, Eomer, and perhaps a little on edge. What troubles you?” 

Had she not been so direct, he might have been able to avoid the matter, but he was too honest to conceal the truth from her. With a sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck, considering his reply. Finally, he looked her in the eye to say, “Gaerost came to see me. Now that I have made a claim on your attentions, he has decided you might be worth his effort. He accuses me of contriving to steal you from him.”

Her eyes went wide at this pronouncement, the last thing she had expected him to tell her. _Gaerost was claiming her?_ Her confusion and shock quickly gave way to anger and bitterness. _How dare he!_ She moved to stare out the balcony doors, her arms wrapped around her as though to bring comfort.

At length she expressed her thoughts. “The last time I saw him, when he took his leave of me he did not even kiss my hand, as though he feared this blemish would infect him also!” she hissed acrimoniously. The pain was evident in her voice and it wrenched at Eomer’s insides to hear it. Was this to be the undoing of all the ground he had gained in the past week?

In response, Eomer caught her shoulders and turned her to face him, brushing her hair back out of the way. Gently he laid his calloused hand along the side of her face, pressing it lightly to the scar under his palm. “Infect my body as you have infected my heart,” he told her fervently. “I gladly succumb.”

Her breath hitched at his words, and she stared at him with mingled surprise and joy. Forgoing any further pretense, she flung herself in his arms, hugging him tightly, and he gladly received her warm embrace. For a very long time, they merely stood there, holding one another. When at last Lothiriel drew back, it was to swipe at dampened cheeks.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Eomer whispered, “Walk with me in the garden. Come back into the sunlight, my love. We will not let Gaerost or anything else keep us in darkness.”

The eyes she lifted to meet his gaze were fearful, but then her jaw tightened with resolve and she nodded, reaching for his arm. He could feel the tension in her, but he moved her toward the door before she could rethink her choice. Outside her door, the servant in the chair had risen when they exited, but then he offered a bow to them as a grin took over his face. The household staff was fond of the entire family, and had been saddened by their misfortune; it was a delight to see their lady return to them.

Seemingly bolstered by the warm reception, Lothiriel’s steps became less reluctant as they continued on down the hallway. All along their course, servants beamed at the sight of her, favoring her with bows or curtsies. Once they reached the doorway out to the garden, though, Lothiriel hesitated. It had been a very long time since she had been outside, and it felt very strange to her. Wrapping an arm about her shoulders, Eomer urged her forward, smiling down at her as he did.

Focusing on the love in his countenance, she yielded to his guidance and they moved out into the sunlight. Lothiriel had forgotten how much she enjoyed being out in the fresh air, with the wind in her hair and the smell of flowers on the breeze. She wandered about with almost child-like enthusiasm, pausing over blossoms and butterflies she encountered. Eomer merely trailed along behind her, taking pleasure in her delight.

When at last she paused, to gaze over the wall out to sea, he came up behind her and slipped his arms about her waist, kissing her hair. Without conscious thought, she leaned back into his embrace; it seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. After some time, he bent close to her ear and whispered anew his entreaty, “Marry me!”

For a moment, she stiffened, thinking he had spoiled a lovely outing, but then her heart overrode her concern. She loved him; quite possibly she had almost from the time they first met. She could never have dreamed it would ever be possible for them to be together, yet here they stood, and she was free to accept or reject his offer. Allowing Gaerost’s suit had been more a matter of practicality and pragmatic reason. He had been a wise choice, though not one she eagerly desired. Not until she had met Eomer had her heart been affected by the mere sight of a man. Everything about him had appealed to her, despite his being so different from any other man of her acquaintance. Where Gaerost was indifferent to her, he had been attentive. Where Gaerost schemed how she could prove most useful to him, Eomer thought only of her.

Still, there was the matter of her being a queen who was disfigured. Eomer might not mind, but others were not apt to be so kind. Could she do it? Did she have the courage to stand before them, having nothing but Eomer’s strength to sustain her, and do what a queen of Rohan must do?

Seeming to sense her concerns, Eomer reiterated, “You will be a wonderful queen, my love, and a tiny scar will be inconsequential. The Rohirrim are more concerned with your heart than your appearance, and I am certain your heart is equal to the task I would give you.”

His confidence was reassuring, but still she hesitated. “Let…let me think about it, Eomer. It is a daunting prospect.”

Much as he was inclined to press her to yield, he restrained himself. He wanted her to completely choose this and not feel forced into it. Too much in her life seemed to have been pushed upon her against her will and choice. He would not be a compulsion – she must come to him willingly. “As you wish, beloved, just…do not keep me in suspense too very long!”

She laughed then, for the first time in months, and returned her gaze out to sea. She _must_ find the courage to do this. How could she ever allow him to walk out of her life? He could not remain in Dol Amroth forever, courting her endlessly in hopes that she would one day yield. He would need a firm answer and soon.

There was much weeping and hugging that took place when they returned indoors, as the entire family, who had refrained from rushing out to join them in the garden, now fell upon Lothiriel with joy and thanksgiving. She had missed them this past week, when Eomer had been virtually her sole companion, and it was good to be with them again. She agreed to join them for dinner, and when Eothain appeared shortly before the meal, he was invited to do so as well. 

The presence of a stranger put Lothiriel on edge once more. As they took their seats, Eothain had been placed to her left, on the same side as her injury. She tried to avoid his gaze, afraid to catch him staring at her and not wishing to see him hastily looking away from her, but when her mother spoke from the end of the table, she had to turn in that direction. Eothain was looking at her, as expected, but not in the way she had anticipated. 

His eyes were narrowed, and she resisted the overwhelming urge to pull her hair forward to cover the scar more than it presently did. At length, he reached for the glass of wine a servant had just poured, and took a swallow before observing with a nod of satisfaction, “Eomer King said you had been injured, but it seems to be healing well. I am glad to see it.” With that he turned his attention to Erchirion seated across from him and asked some question about fishing, not noticing her astonishment and pleasure with his reaction to her.

The sensible part of her knew that not all would be so easily accepting of the scar, but there were many like Eothain, particularly in Rohan, who did not consider simple scars to be impediments to a person’s usefulness. To his eyes, she had suffered no lasting, impairing injury so there was nothing more to be said on the subject.

Looking around the table at her family, all engaging in lively conversation and paying her no particular attention, she knew that she could not disappoint them. Perhaps the scar would cause her difficulty at times, but life would be far more difficult if she tried to live it within the confines of her bedchamber. That was not life and she could not stomach enduring it.

Her eyes fell finally upon Eomer, seated to her right. Seeming to sense her gaze, he looked up and smiled at her, a look of utter adoration on his face. No, she could not reject such love, nor pretend it was not requited. She caught a snatch of conversation between Amrothos and her father: “…reforged the shards of Narsil, and created Anduril…” She wasn’t sure what they were discussing, but she suddenly realized the words were applicable to her as well. Eomer’s love had taken her broken fragments and forged them back together again, forming a new and stronger person in the bargain. There had been talk of soon beginning the Fourth Age, likely in the following year. When that happened, she would shine forth as a new person with a new destiny. 

“Yes,” she said quietly to herself, not expecting anyone else to hear. To her surprise, Eomer’s head turned at the sound and he raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” she repeated directly to him, hoping he recognized the significance of the word.

Apparently he did, for he turned instantly to Imrahil and announced, “My friend, I have asked your daughter to marry me and she has accepted. Have I your permission to fix a date?”

The table fell instantly silent at this announcement, and all turned to look at Lothiriel, but she let her broad smile reassure them he was not speaking out of turn. Convinced, Imrahil nodded, tears pricking his eyes. “Gladly I give you my permission, Eomer – and my heartfelt thanks.”

“I assure you,” Eomer told him, turning to gaze at Lothiriel once more, “the pleasure is all mine!”

_THE END_

7/4/08 – 7/19/08

Gaerost – “sea fortress”  
Iorlin – “old song”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**A/N1: Some readers thought Gaerost got off too easy, but keep in mind that he has now made enemies of the Prince of Dol Amroth and the King of Rohan, which essentially means he will be in ill-favor with the King of Gondor as well. As Catspector commented, just because Imrahil feels they must continue doing business with him NOW, does not mean that if any viable alternative presents itself it won't be snapped up. Gaerost could well find his shipping empire collapsing under failing business now that he has opened the door so widely to any and all competition. Eomer is being circumspect, as a king must be, regardless of his personal feelings in the matter, but that doesn't mean Gaerost won't be sorry he got on the man's bad side.** _
> 
> _**A/N2: Thanks to Lialathuveril and Lady Bluejay for guidance with culinary matters! I appreciated their efforts even if Eomer didn't!** _


End file.
